L'espoir de l'amour
by Night Of The Land
Summary: A series of short segments that document our good Inspector's life. A little romance, mystery and humor thrown in can't hurt. Will be J/VJ by the end.
1. Two AM

Title: Two AM

Author: Night Of The Land

Category: Les Misérables

Rating: T

Disclaimer: I own nothing, Victor Hugo, rest his soul, owns it all.

Summary: Oriane comes to Javert for a little late night laugh

A/N: Hi guys! First Les Miserables fic and I'm very excited. I decided to try my hand at a series of challenges, and I think I've managed to create quite the adventure. Most of the story is complete, however I will be updating once a week until it is done, so I anticipate being done in 64 weeks, maybe more if these characters speak to me.

The candle flickered, the low burned wick making a desperate attempt to keep the meager light in the room. Outside a snow storm raged on, the wind howling around the corners of the tenement house, the occasional gust down the chimney causing the weakly glowing coals to flare up.

Seated at his desk, back to the window and to the world, sat a darker skinned man, his grey streaked brown mane was pulled back into a severe queue at the base of his neck. He was devoid of his normal dark long coat and hat. Instead he was in simple shirt sleeves, the cuffs rolled up past his elbows. He still wore his heavy boots, his dark pants tucked into the knee high supple leather. His dark eyes reflected the light, as they scanned the hand written page before him. The writing was careful and calculated and neat and even, yet all that did nothing to aid the man in the reading of the dry material.

Closing his eyes, feeling the well-known ache making itself known behind his left eye, he set the paper aside, reaching for the wine glass he had set to one side several hours before. Knocking back the last bit of the bitter watered down red wine, he pushed himself away from the desk, the chair legs scraping loudly against the already scared wood floor.

Bracing himself on the arms of the chair, he pushed himself up to stand. His body protested the abuse he had put it through over the last few days. He gave a ruefully smile at the thought, he wasn't getting any younger.

A sharp knock at the door drew a fierce frown, and he moved quickly across the floor, his boots clicking on the hardwood. He threw a sharp glace to the window then to his pocket watch. It was a snowy Wednesday morning at 2 am, who the hell was at his door?

He cracked it open just enough so that his body filled the door way. Standing before him, covered head to toe in snow was a tiny, tawny headed woman with striking hazel eyes and a sharp smile. She was wrapped in several layers of cloaks and her boots that were worn at the heels came to her knees. When she saw that the door had been opened, sharp featured face broke out into a smile that showed a row of perfectly white teeth.

"Oriane…" Javert ground out between clenched teeth, before he grabbed the girl by her shawl and dragged her inside. She had to be freezing.

"Damn, Javert, is that anyway to treat a lady?" she groused, as she righted herself from where she had stumbled into the room. She cast sharp hazel eyes at him in inquiry.

He stalked over to the hearth and opened the flue, stoking the dying fire back to life. He cast her a withering glance. "What the devil are you doing out in a snow storm at this time of night?" he inquired, "I know you don't have any customers during this type of weather."

Tossing a piece of loose hair from her eyes, she joined the good inspector at the fireplace, her lips pursed in disapproval before they upturned into a down right lecherous grin. "If I recall, you didn't do much complaining, monsieur, when_ you_ were my customer."

His glare did nothing to cow her. She simply gave another smile, as she shed her multitude of shawls and cloaks, draping them over the still pushed back desk chair. Under all her outer wear she wore a simple skirt of torn and patched material. Her bodice was dirty and spotted, the material so thin you could see her nipples erect from the cold. She had no shame as she lifted her skirt to over her knees to unlace her boots. She left them by the chair; a fine puddle of water was beginning to form under her cloaks that dripped with melting and melted snow.

Javert must have gotten the fire restarted, because she turned back to a warm red hot blaze roaring away in the hearth. The man was nowhere to be seen though. She looked around, before she felt arms around her from behind. She gave a giggle, before she leaned back into him.

"You must have been lonely, these last few nights, either that or just abnormally horny, Monsieur l'inspecteur." She said as she felt his hot breath on the back of her neck.

He pulled away abruptly, before giving her a withering glare. She could see the dark of his desire in his eyes. They were after all, kindred spirits.

"What do you want, Oriane?" he demanded, leaning nonchalantly against the side of his desk, apprising her with dark eyes that reflected the fire light.

"Can't I just come for a social call?" she asked.

He gave a noncommittal grunt, before shaking his head, his long mane coming loose from its queue. She turned back to the fire, warming her hands, feeling a shiver work its way up her spine. Clenching her teeth together, she repressed the tremors that were a result of her now thawing out. They stood like that for several moments, she warming herself by the fire, her outer coverings drying over the chair, he standing watching her every moment.

Javert was accustomed to watching, simply observing his mark, only this time his mark knew he was there. She pulled her long hair from its tight up do, and ran her fingers through it. She craned her slender neck to one side, stretching her lean body and shaking off the cold. Outside the storm was beginning to ebb, the snow not falling as hard against the window pane. As he stood watching Oriane, he couldn't help but feel the stirrings that always happened whenever the woman was around. His blood seemed to boil not with anger or rage, but with a passion that he was rather ashamed to admit he had felt for no-one before, save for one… No. He cut off that thought before it could even completely form.

Oriane, her hair and boots now completely dry, turned from the fire to look at her inspector. He stood gazing at her with dark eyes that sent a shudder down her spine that had nothing to do with the cold. She had slept with a lot of men in her life, after all it was her job, however none of them affected her the way her dear inspector did. The way his brown hair, that used to be so dark and thick, but was now thinning and was streaked with silver, fell over his shoulders. The dark color of his skin that was so typical of their people. The way he held himself even now as he just stood there. It all served to make her heart burn.

"What did you need, 'Riane?" he asked, his voice breaking the silence.

She gave a small smile before she stepped into his personal space, her face coming to within mere inches of his, her breath sweet on his face. "I couldn't just stop by for a social call?" she asked again, her arms finding their way around his neck. She was forced to stand on tip toes to look him in the eye.

He raised a cynical eyebrow at her, making her roll her eyes, "Fine, just wanted to drop by with the normal report. Figured with the snow, you wouldn't want it at the station like normal." She stepped back and dug a sealed envelope out of an inner pocket of her patched and worn skirts.

She held it out to him. He reached for it. She pulled back with a mischievous look in her eye. "Oriane." His voice left little room for playing, but she knew Monsieur l'inspecteur better than he would ever want to admit.

She stepped back away from him, holding the envelope away from her body. He wrapped a strong arm around her waist, pulling her close, attempting to grab the envelope. She treaded her free hand through his loose hair and pulled his head down. Her lips pressed to his, and she felt him stiffen. 'In more way than one.' She thought with a slight moan, as she relented to him, allowing him to grab the envelope.

He tossed it onto the desk and wrapped both arms around her slender waist, pulling her closer to him, deepening the kiss. His fingers found their way to her threadbare bodice and began to deftly unlace the back of it. She pulled the tie from his hair, letting it fall around his shoulders, running her fingers through the silky strands. He moaned into her mouth, letting her push him backwards in the direction of the bed that was situated in the corner of the room. She forcefully pushed him onto the bed, where he sprawled in a decidedly undignified manner. Her hazel eyes were dark with desire as she lifted her skirts enough to climb onto the bed straddling him. She leaned over him, his hands coming to rest on her hips, as she felt his desire against her thigh. She gave him an evil smirk, before whispering in his ear.

"I forgot, monsieur, you don't take part in carnal desires." She kissed him deeply on the lips before she sprang from the bed, gathered her over coats and was gone before Javert could even sit up.

The police Inspector narrowed his eyes, as he watched the door slam behind her. He really hated that woman. Allowing himself to fall back onto the bed, he slung an arm over his face telling himself to calm down, willing his desire away. The crackle of the fire threatened to lull him to sleep. Sitting up and shaking himself, he pushed himself off the bed, knowing that he needed to look over the report Oriane had brought him before sleep could even be an option.


	2. Metaphor

Title: Metaphor

Author: Night Of The Land

Category: Les Misérables

Rating: T

Disclaimer: I own nothing, Victor Hugo, rest his soul, owns it all.

Summary: Oriane observes the great observer himself

A/N: Hi y'all! Sorry for the late post, these past few weeks have been nuts to the extreme! One thing that I maybe didn't mention when I started this: these are not in any sort of order, they all happen in this universe that I have created but do not fall chronologically, also they will eventually end up not following the story line of the book or the musical. Like I said, I've created my own world with these characters that I love. Oh, and thank you to **Tarja the wind witch **for the review!

For Oriane today was like any other day. She woke in a strange bed, her head throbbing and body aching. Only today she was not in her normal state of disrobe nor was she cold or shivering. In fact she was pleasantly warm, her body swathed in warm, clean bed clothes.

She lay still for a moment, taking in her surroundings, letting her senses take it all in. To her left she heard the crackle of a fire; could feel the heat of it on her face, warming her to the core. In front of her she heard the scratch of a pen on paper, the shift of the person who was more than likely seated at the table or desk.

She took a deep breath, breathing in the scent of the fire in the hearth, and a scent that was unique to one man in the entire city. The smell of pine and sea and salt and sandalwood all rolled into one scent that told her that she was in the small apartment of none other than Inspector Javert of the Paris Police.

With a slight smile on her face, she opened her bright hazel eyes, to stare at the ceiling above her. The wood was dark and marked by its age, and several knots had fallen from the planks that had been used to make the roof. Several boards had been replaced over the years and it was easily noticeable. She wondered briefly if the good inspector had done it himself or if he had had someone come do it for him.

A noise from the desk made her snap her eyes closed and pretend she was still sleeping. She followed the heavy boots as they paced across the floor, to the window, which creaked and squealed as the latch was opened and the shutters thrown open. She shuddered as a cool breeze drifted across her face, and she buried herself deeper in the heavy duvet. The boots paced across the room, paused, and a few moments later returned to the desk.

In her shifting, Oriane had positioned herself to be able to watch the dear Inspector without his noticing. She smiled, cracking one eye open seeing him hunched over his desk, dark hair falling over his shoulders. His face was buried in his strong hands that, in her years of knowing him, had taken life just as easily as they had cradled a babe. His shoulders were tense and she watched as he heaved a great sigh before straightening and setting back to his task.

His had glided across the paper with great care as he wrote, his lips moving slightly as if speaking to himself the words he wrote. He brushed a stray strand of hair from his face with his left hand, a drop of ink from his pen smearing across his face, before he set the pen down. Picking the paper up he pulled it close to him, eyes flicking across the page as he reread what he wrote.

Oriane smothered a giggle when she saw the ink on the side of his face. He seemed to have not noticed it, as he gave a slight tug on the same stray piece of hair. A crease appeared between his eyebrows as he read a frown down turning the corners of his lips.

She sighed to herself, as she watched him. When they first met he had been such a wide eyed young man, dark eyes watching the word, not with wonder, but with a knowledge- or better yet more of a hope- that there had to be at least a few good people in the word. Over time, as he had grown into the man who sat before her today, she had watched as that hope had faded from his dark eyes. When she had seen him again after several years of absence, she had hardly recognized the Police Inspector who had been so shy and blushing like a virgin girl.

They had been drawn together again, she felt it in her heart at least, because of their shared past and culture. While he had rejected his gypsy ways she had embraced them, not caring what others thought of her. She had tried working other jobs, had held one down for several years until her manager had come on to her, and she was forced to defend herself. All her had seen was her dark skin and hair and heard her gypsy accent and had automatically assumed she would sleep with him. He had been sorely mistaken, and after she was done with him she had been sent to prison for assaulting him. She had been sixteen at the time.

She stretched on the bed, arms above her head as she gave a mighty yawn, her whole body stretching, toes curling as she squeezed her eyes shut, before relaxing letting herself fall back into the blankets. Opening her eyes again, she found the dark eyes of Javert staring at her intently.

"Sleep well?" he asked sarcastically, quirking one eyebrow up in a fine arch.

Oriane gave him a happy content smile, before she sat up rolling her shoulders, titling her head from side to side, stretching her neck. "Very well, thank you." She replied her voice sounding scratchy and hoarse. It was then that she realized she wasn't entirely sure how she came to be so nicely situated in the Monsieur l'Inspecteur's bed.

The other eye brow rose to meet its twin at Javert's hairline and she swore he rolled his eyes at her. He stood bringing her the mug of drink that had been sitting on his desk. He sat down next to her, so close that she could smell the faint smell of musk coming from his skin and she couldn't help but smile at him.

"How's the head?" he asked, handing her the mug, which she took gratefully.

Drinking the diluted wine with the same fervor that a parched man in a desert would drink water, she gave a deep sigh. "Nonexistent." She said, winking at him, licking a stray drop of wine from her bottom lip, having totally forgotten about her aches and pains during her spying on the man before her.

He gave an acknowledging grunt, as he took the cup she held out to him. "Surprising." He said, "Considering the way you were falling all over yourself last night. I doubt you would have made it home if I hadn't seen you. You need to be more careful, 'Riane."

Oriane gave a non-apologetic shrug, "Not like I was expecting you to come by and save the poor damsel in distress."

Javert gave her a sharp look, "You shouldn't be drinking the way you do, Oriane. I know you have better ways of picking up customers, or was that your way of trying to kill yourself?" his voice turned patronizing, "Did you hope to end up falling over the edge of the bridge and in the river? There are better ways, I assure you."

She snapped, "Sorry if some of us want to drown our lives in alcohol. We can't all have cushy happy lives, where puppies and kitties fall from the sky instead of snow or rain."

She threw the covers off her legs, and clambered from the bed, eyes searching for her boots. Javert had sat through her rant with a look of mild acceptance, his dark eyes watching her face intently. Ever since they had met years ago when he had been a child- he doubted she knew that he remembered, but he did, he could have never forgotten the person who was more of a mentor and caregiver than his own mother had- and she had given him hope of a life outside the prison walls, he had promised himself that he would watch after her, even if she pitched a fit like she had just done.

Hazel eyes ablaze, she spun around, her skirts flying around her, "Where in the hell are my shoes, Javert?"

He stood from his perch on the bed, set the mug aside, and with hands that were still even after all this time unfamiliar with touching a woman's skin, brushed a strand of hair from her eyes. She glowered at him, but it did not deter him from brushing hid long fingers through her hair.

"I can't worry about you, Oriane? You who have been the only constant in my life since before I care to remember?" he spun her around so he held her from behind, burying her face in her hair, he felt her relax slightly against him.

Oriane sighed, she knew he was playing her, but she really didn't give a damn. This was one man who she would love to have as a regular in her bed, or even the only man in her bed. But, as she gave a shudder from his hot breath on the back of her neck, she knew that would never happen.

"You don't have to worry about me, Monsieur, I assure you, I am more than capable of taking care of myself." She said softly, removing herself from his embrace, feeling her heart dropping as she did so.

He gave her a sad smile, before he nodded to the door, indicating that her shoes could be found by the exit, before he bowed his head slightly. She ignored him, as she headed from the door, eager to get out of this room and back to her life.

He had returned to his desk, his back to her, head bent low over the page he was reading. She gave a sad little smile before she took a deep breath and opened the door. It would be better if they avoided each other for a few days at least after this little tiff. She closed the door quietly behind her, squared her shoulders and stepped fully back into her own life, away from over worried Police Inspectors and her crazy thoughts.

Inside Javert had listened to her leave, his thoughts refusing to let him forget that he had been a little harsh with her. But he decided that perhaps he didn't care. After all, all of his other relationships had ended, why should this be any different?


End file.
